Chapter 3: The Dance of Shadows

The rain hammered against the roof of the dimly lit house, creating an unsettling rhythm in the cold, damp air. Inside, a man hung limply against the wall, his body slumped, wrists tied tightly with ropes that bit into his skin. Blood trickled slowly from where the rough bindings had cut through. He was still alive, though barely—his breath shallow and labored, slipping in and out of consciousness.

In another room, the killer moved with deliberate calm, humming softly to the sound of an old country song playing on a scratched vinyl record. The music mixed with the patter of rain, creating a bizarre contrast between the grim reality inside and the eerie calmness of the scene.

Dressed in a thin leather jacket, the killer sat at a small, scratched wooden table. A pen hovered above the paper as they carefully wrote down another twisted riddle. There was no rush. Everything had its time, and for now, they danced with the storm, savoring every second. The next act in this dark play was almost ready.

Meanwhile, across town, Pranav was seated at his desk, his sharp eyes fixed on the riddle that had come with the severed hand in the carton. The police station was quiet now, save for the low murmur of voices from the nearby desks. Thameem stood by his side, flipping through files, missing persons reports, anything that could give them a clue.

The riddle read:

"The answer lies where the hand has shown,
A tale of anguish, but not alone.
The cut is clean, the pain runs deep,
Where bodies rest, but never sleep."

Pranav leaned back, tapping his pen thoughtfully on the edge of the desk. “Thameem, this isn’t just random. It’s carefully written, deliberate. Look at the phrasing—‘where bodies rest, but never sleep.’ It’s almost as if the killer is referring to a place that isn’t exactly about death but suffering.”

Thameem rubbed his chin, narrowing his eyes at the paper. “Could it be another crime scene? A location where the killer has buried bodies?”

“No,” Pranav said, shaking his head slowly. “If it were a burial site, the clue wouldn’t be so cryptic. There’s something symbolic here. The phrase ‘but never sleep’... it’s metaphorical. It’s pointing to a place where people experience pain but don’t die. Where they suffer without rest.”

“Could be a hospital,” Thameem suggested, though uncertainty laced his voice.

Pranav’s gaze darkened. “Not quite. Hospitals don’t fit the killer’s style—it’s too easy. Look at the hand. The cut is surgical, precise. Whoever did this is patient. They’re sending a message, and it’s not a cry for attention. It’s a calculated game.”

He glanced back at the forensic report, flipping through the notes. He had already gone through it twice but something tugged at his mind, a detail he might have missed.

“What about the hand itself?” Thameem asked, trying to bridge the thoughts. “What’s the significance of the victim? Male, 30 to 40 years old, possibly involved in some kind of dangerous work—could that be tied to this location?”

Pranav remained silent for a moment, letting his thoughts settle. He carefully examined the skin of the hand again, noting the subtle scars, the roughness of the fingertips, signs of manual labor. Then, suddenly, it clicked.

“The hands,” Pranav murmured, his eyes lighting up. “Look at them. Rough, yes, but… there’s a uniformity to the cuts. The killer didn’t just pick random victims. This man worked with his hands, in a place where pain was routine, but survival was harder.”

Thameem furrowed his brow, “You mean—some kind of factory worker?”

Pranav nodded slowly, the pieces beginning to come together. “Yes. Think about it. Factories, industries where accidents happen, where people live through their pain day after day. The killer is drawing us back to places where people suffered but didn’t die. This riddle could be pointing to one of those places. A forgotten factory or industrial site—where bodies worked, toiled in misery, but never slept.”

Thameem sat back, staring at the report. “Could be one of the old, abandoned plants—there were a few shut down years ago after the chemical leaks and accidents, right?”

“Exactly. I think the killer’s leading us to a site of trauma, something personal to the victims, maybe even a symbol of their pain.”

Back at the dimly lit house, the killer finished the last stroke of the pen, placing the riddle beside their unconscious victim. The room was silent, save for the haunting melody that still played in the background, the rain now heavier, drumming against the windows.

The killer’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as they moved slowly towards the man tied against the wall. His shallow breathing was the only sign of life left in his body. With a measured calm, the killer pulled out a gleaming blade from their jacket, its edge reflecting the dim candlelight.

With terrifying precision, they gripped the man's wrist. The blade hovered over his skin for a brief second, the finality of the moment heavy in the air. Then, in one swift motion, the blade cut into the flesh.

The man, jolted by the excruciating pain, screamed as the blade severed his left hand, the sound swallowed by the raging storm outside.

Back at the station, Pranav stood, gathering his notes, his mind whirring with the revelations he had pieced together. He circled the clue, marking the old factories on a map. Thameem watched him quietly, seeing the sharpness of Pranav’s mind at work, connecting dots that others would overlook.

"Get me the list of people around 30-40 years old who has gone missing in Chennai for the past 3-4 days Thameem" Pranav asked. Thameem nodded understanding the reason and seriousness behind Pranav's tone.

“Let’s get out there,” Pranav said, his voice firm but calm. “We’re onto something. The killer’s trying to make us chase shadows—but we’re closer now. It’s all about suffering, and I think we’re starting to understand his game.”

The pieces were beginning to fall into place, but Pranav knew there was more to uncover—more riddles to solve before the full picture came to light. But for now, this lead would give them the direction they needed to move forward.

As Pranav and Thameem prepared to head out, the storm outside continued to rage, mirroring the dark, twisting path that lay ahead of them.

But they would be ready.